


Dog Tags Ad Infinitum

by theyalwayssay



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Cliche, F/M, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyalwayssay/pseuds/theyalwayssay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meeting between two strangers, and the truths they hide around their necks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Tags Ad Infinitum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlight/gifts).



The rain pounded on the windows, drizzling in a grey mist to puddle on the windowsills as the steady sound of water beating the roof wove like a haze through the room. Amelia thought she could feel the sound echoing her head, as though her brain was one big tiled room, the sound bouncing around in the empty space like a moth beating at a window.

She shook her head slightly, letting her thoughts return to her and drive out the drizzle inside her mind as she pulled her dark curly hair out of her eyes. She watched from behind the counter as the slow-motion parade of people entering the book shop became slowly wetter and wetter as they began to come in not on a book errand, but to escape the downpour. Umbrellas and coats were shaken out, long hair dripping down backs. She sighed as she looked at the puddles of rainwater by the door, knowing that she would have to mop them up eventually.

A boy came in, a transparent umbrella still over his head. Amelia smirked when she saw it was covered in yellow butterflies. He closed it and shook the water out, his coat collar turned up and his dark curls dripping water into his blue eyes behind glasses misted over with water droplets. He looked to be about her age, which surprised her. She was normally the only person in the shop who could be called something other than middle-aged, and all the university students went to the other shop closer to campus. She had broached the subject of transferring to her father, but he insisted she stay where she was. It was close enough to walk from there to her house anyway.

A petite girl with light brown hair walked in, taking the umbrella from him and hanging it on the crook of her elbow. Amelia saw him glance up at the ceiling. He seemed to be searching for something, and it took her a moment to realize her was listening to the music that was playing over the speakers. Her eyebrows shot up as he made a face of disgust.

“What the hell are they playing?” he asked the girl who stood beside him. She shrugged. “And who selects the music for this place?”

“It’s Postmodern Jukebox,” Amelia supplied. She blushed when she realized she’s been eavesdropping. “It’s…that’s what the band’s called. And I select it.”

“But I know this song,” the boy continued, pointing up at the ceiling like the song was hanging up there staring at him. “That band doesn’t play this song.”

“They specialize in covers. They take new songs and record them to sound like music from the 20’s and 30’s.”

The boy stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Oh? Are you the resident music snob?” Amelia asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “Would you prefer some Puccini? Or maybe a little Clair de Lune? Or we’ll hire an opera singer to sing Habanera to you. Or are you one of those people who’s favourite band is called You’ve Probably Never Head of Them?”

The boy raised his eyebrows, the side of his mouth twitching. The girl next to him, however, smiled widely. “His favourite band is actually called Moon Rabbit Offerings, and you’re right, no one’s ever heard of them,” she reached over the counter and shook Amelia’s hand. “I’m Annie, by the way.”

“Amelia,” she said, smiling at the girl. “Nice to meet you.”

She glanced at the boy. “And you are?”

“Hamish,” he said, the slightest of smiles curving his lips. “Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

“Wait, Watson-Holmes?” Amelia asked. “You’re Professor Holmes’ son? The Forensics professor at the university?”

“Yes,” the boy said, looking slightly taken aback.

“I’m Amelia Song,” Amelia explained. “My father works in the same department.”

“Oh right, the Quantum Physics Professor,” he said, nodding. “I thought his last name was Smith, though.”

Amelia shrugged. “Mum kept her name when they married, and when I turned eight she let me choose. I thought Song sounded prettier.”

Hamish nodded.

“I’m going to go upstairs, okay Hamish?” Annie said, already heading for the staircase.

“All right,” Hamish called back, and she departed. Amelia raised her eyebrows quickly and looked out the window at the still pouring rain. In front of her, Hamish tried to clean his glasses off on his sopping shirt, to no avail.

“Here, let me get that,” she said, taking them from him and cleaning them on her uniform shirt.

“Thanks,” he said, looking slightly surprised. It might have just been her imagination, but she thought she saw a splash of pink colour his cheekbones. He had very prominent cheekbones under his pale skin. She blinked rapidly and looked away, handing them back to him.

“Are you cold?” She asked. “I could get you tea, or coffee? Or something?”

There was no reason for her to be blushing. She’d never spoken to him before. She only knew his father vicariously through her father, and it wasn’t like he talked excessively about his colleagues. But there was something about him, something unusual and fascinating, that Amelia couldn’t quite describe. He seemed like something out of a dream, but as though he didn’t belong in her mind, like he’d accidentally found his way back to the wrong head.

“Uh, I suppose tea would be fine,” he said quietly.

“BEATRIX!” Amelia shouted towards the other end of the shop, where a small café was set up. People sat about reading, and some looked up at her askance. Beatrix looked up at her, a single black curl hanging in her face. “Can I get a green tea please? Also a cinnamon coffee, please.” She looked over at Hamish. “Would your girlfriend like anything?”

“Wha…Oh, Annie? Annie’s not my girlfriend. I just drove her here. She’ll be upstairs for ages looking at those books.”

“Good.” Amelia replied. 

Hamish looked at her, and opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m on break now,” Amelia said, stepping out from behind the counter. “And I want to hear why you think Postmodern Jukebox is such shite. I will require a five-paragraph persuasive essay, of course.”

Hamish stared at her for a moment, then smiled.  
***  
“So you’re saying that you’re not a hipster?” Hamish asked over his tea. The steam curled up over his mouth, latticing it like lace.

“Of course not. I don’t know where you would get that idea,” Amelia replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

“But…But you’re wearing a necklace with an infinity symbol on it!” he exclaimed, pointing at it.

“My father gave it to me because he uses the symbol to explain string theory to his students,” she said, pulling the pendant out from her shirt and pointing at the center of the overlapping ring. “He uses it to describe how two different universes can touch each other in tangible space, but they also have the ability to move off in different directions. Plus, he’s a huge fan of infinity. He says that it’s his favourite number. He came home one evening so excited, and when I asked him why, he said ‘They have infinity symbol jewelry! I never knew people would get so excited about science.’ And then I had to explain to him why people wore them.”

Hamish laughed, a sound deeper and more jovial than what she thought he was capable of making. “He was so disappointed,” Amelia laughed.

“I wish my father was like that sometimes,” Hamish said. “He’s so rational, to the point of insanity I think occasionally. He’s just so…focused on his work. He’s gone days without eating before. The only reason he even works at the university is just so he can have access to the laboratory. He doesn’t like teaching the students or anything, especially the ones that might even be smarter than him. He can’t stand them in particular. It’s like he thinks the Universe created them just to make him look like a fool. It’s one of the reasons why I made sure I didn’t end up in his class when I got into the school.”

“You go to the university? What do you major in?”

Hamish took a long sip of tea before answering. “I’m a theatre major.”

Amelia tried not to giggle, she really did. “Really?” she squeaked. “I could never imagine you being in theatre.”

“And why’s that?” Hamish asked, sounding slightly affronted.

“Well, because people in theatre wear strange clothes and talk loudly and quickly, and they really like hugs. You just don’t strike me as someone who would be comfortable with being on a stage,” she said, trying to explain herself.

“Well, I’m not. I work backstage. I want to be a director,” he said, still looking slightly put out. “And what about you, then? Are you in engineering or something?”

“I’m not in university,” Amelia explained. “I’m taking a year off.”

“Why?”

“So that I can afford university.”

“But your father works there.”

“So you understand why it’s difficult for me to afford it.”

Hamish stared pensively at her over his tea. “I suppose you’re right. My father doesn’t do much with his salary. He comes from a wealthy family, and I think if it wasn’t for my uncle, we would all starve.”

“That does seem nice, to come from a wealthy family,” Amelia quietly replied. “My mother’s a novelist, so she doesn’t make that much money either. She travels a lot though. She’s in Italy right now. But I don’t mind. I like working here, and even if I was in university, I’m not quite sure what I would do when I was there. I don’t really have a goal, or a job. I’m just sort of…drifting. My father thinks that’s good, he says there’s nothing better than drifting. But sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to settle down and find my place.”  
Hamish nodded. “I think my father would agree with you. He’s never been big on travel, but he finds enough to do where he is. I think that’s the difference; it doesn’t really matter where you are, whether you’re drifting or stable or anything like that. It’s just…all fine, you know?” he opened his mouth slightly, then closed it and shook his head. “That didn’t come out properly.”

“No, it’s all right,” Amelia insisted. “I understand what you mean. Thank you.”

She smiled, and he returned the smile. He had taken off his soaking coat, revealing an oatmeal-coloured cardigan over a Moon Rabbit Offerings shirt that showed a little white rabbit with red eyes inside a black box, with the word ‘Schrödinger’ scrawled underneath.

“It’s based on their album,” he explained when Amelia had asked about it. “The theme of it is boxes, fitting inside them and outside, and how if a box is really just inside a person’s head, then it’s not really there, you know? And that means that you can’t base your life and your decisions on a box that’s just in your head. At least, that’s what I think the songs mean.”

“And the album is called…?” Amelia asked.

“Schrödinger!”

“Of course.” She smiled.

Hamish leaned back, propping his feet up on the chair beside him. Amelia glanced over and saw that he was wearing a dark skinny jeans over a pair of black high-top Converse that were splattered with paint. So typical of a theatre person.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a glint of metal beneath his shirt. He glanced down, and his hand seemed to go unconsciously to the chain. “Nothing.”

“Oh come on, I told you my necklace story,” Amelia said. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? A necklace?”

Hamish nodded, and slowly pulled the chain out from under his shirt. From it hung two dog tags. 

“Who’s are those?”

“My father’s. Well, the husband of my father.”

“Is he in the Army?”

“He was.”

“Oh. Is he retired?”

“No.”

“…Oh.”

Silence.

“It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” he said after a moment, tucking the tags quickly back under his shirt. “He didn’t die in combat, actually. I mean, he was in the Army, and he got shot in the shoulder and discharged. So he came back from Afghanistan and met my father, but then some bad things happened, and my dad had to disappear for a while. Only, he didn’t know that. He thought my dad was dead. And my dad couldn’t tell him that he was alive, ‘cos it would put him in danger too, you know? And so he got really sad, ‘cos he loved my dad, you know? They loved each other so much. And he just couldn’t go on anymore. It was just a few days before my dad was going to come home, when his friend at the Yard told him that he had shot himself. I mean, the way my father acts, you’d think it had just happened yesterday, you know? Even though it was years ago, he still wears the ring.” Hamish cleared his throat and looked out the window at the rain.

Amelia took a sip of her coffee, trying to think of something to say. It had gone cold.

“Well, I have good news for you, then,” She said at last. Hamish glanced at her, his eyes slightly red. “The thing about string theory is that there are an infinite number of universes. And each time a decision is made, thousands of parallel universes splinter off from this one to exist simultaneously. So somewhere you’re drinking coffee and I’m drinking tea, and somewhere you’re working here and I’m at university. And…and somewhere both your dads are alive. That’s a statistical promise. In fact, there are an infinite number of universes where he’s alive. And there might even be a universe where you don’t need to wear glasses,” she added.

Hamish smiled in spite of himself. “But that’s all it is, though,” he said, rolling the chain between his fingers. “A theory.”

Amelia leaned across the table, as though she was about to share a secret. “Our world is built on theories. Theories are the poor man’s dreams. They keep the world turning. And if there’s nothing that says they’re not true, who are we to disbelieve them?”

Hamish stared at her. Amelia leaned back, biting her lip, worried she’d said something wrong. Then, he laughed. “You’re right!” he said loudly. Amelia didn’t really see what the joke was, but his laugh was so loud, so infectious, that she couldn’t help but laugh too.

“And, to make things even better,” she added. “The rain’s finally stopped.”

Hamish looked out of the window, where the sky, although still grey, had ceased its tears.

“I should probably get Annie,” he said, standing up. “It’s getting a bit late anyway. It was…” he paused, as though searching for words. “A surprising pleasure to meet you, Amelia.”

“Same to you, Hamish,” she replied. She watched as he walked up the staircase. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her register open. Her break must have ended without her realizing. Slowly, she got up and made her way back behind the counter. Standing there, behind the goliath register, the space felt smaller, cramped. She leaned back to rub the crick in her neck.

The sound of fluttering paper made her glance down. Where before there had been nothing on the counter, there now lay a slip of folded paper that looked as though it had been torn from a book. She leaned down and picked it up. There were only a few lines written on the paper, indicating that it was the last page in the book. Scribbled in the margin was a group of numbers. A phone number. Underneath, in a messy hand, was written ‘Don’t worry, I bought it while you were on break.’ Amelia glanced at the top, where the title of the book stood out, bold and black. THE ELEGANT UNIVERSE. On the other side of the paper was written: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory.

The sound of the door opening made Amelia look up. Annie still had her butterfly umbrella in the crook of her elbow as she left the shop, Hamish close behind her. Even from here, Amelia could see the glint of the tags around his neck. They were untucked and hung over the T-shirt, catching the light. Tucked under his arm was a large, thick book. Amelia glanced up, and could just barely see the edge of the railing on the second floor above her. A perfect vantage point.

Amelia quickly typed his number into her phone, then sent a message, glancing up to make sure that no one needed ringing up.

DAD, I HAVE A NEW THEORY FOR YOU.

**Author's Note:**

> Postmodern Jukebox is a real band, and one of my favourites. Moon Rabbit Offerings, unfortunately, does not exist, although I'm sure they'd be a kickass band if they did. Annie is an original character that I think I might use in another fic one of these days. She has potential.


End file.
